OTHER GHOSTLY HAUNTINGS AND EXORCISMS OVER THE YEARS

by Elizabeth Baron

The Ghosts of Lincoln and Kennedy

Crown Heights

The AGFA Building

Cochise

Other Ghost Stories

Amidst the grueling Henry and Ives murder case, Elizabeth was visited by two very animated spirits, both with important messages. Being a clear channel is easy compared to the task of delivering messages from spirits to people who may or may not believe. She relates what happened:

The Ghosts of Lincoln and Kennedy

I never sleep late on Sunday morning... or any morning, for that matter. I only require about five hours of sleep per night to function properly. I am almost always out of bed by 7:00 a.m. This Sunday morning was no different. It was my special time to myself, to devote to my first love - painting. As an avocation, I am an artist. I had the great privilege of studying under a wonderful Old Master French painter in Chicago - Pierre Serre. He taught me one of the most valuable lessons I've ever learned - the importance of light in color. I could not have possibly imagined back then just how meaningful this concept was to become in my life.

Most of the paintings I do are of people; the subjects of my art, amazingly, usually turn out to be a prediction of something that is about to occur. It always stuns me when that happens. Recently while I was painting the Virgin Mary, people who had passed into the spirit world came and talked to me while I was painting.

I once painted a Citadel cadet (The Citadel is a famous military school in Charleston, South Carolina where I live.) This painting was of a cadet standing in front of the military school holding his bag of dirty laundry. Shortly thereafter, a terrible scandal broke out at the Citadel having to do with the system they used to initiate cadets. The cruel and unorthodox ways in which this was done was brought to the attention of the law when the physical abuse made headlines. They were forced to air their dirty laundry.

Ahh--- my Sunday mornings... I looked so forward to working with the glorious oil colors I had come to cherish, since there seemed to be such little time to do so. I consider it my reward after all the trials of my usual work week. It's so wonderful having my own space, my own time, with no police calling me to work on a murder, no client calling to tell me his wife had just left him and asking me what he should do. Don't get me wrong. I am enormously grateful for the special psychic gifts I have been blessed with and thoroughly enjoy the fascinating work I do and all the interesting roads it takes me down. I am the only trance medium in the area, so I am much in demand and it takes its toll on me in many ways. Sometimes I feel I must be the only medium in the Bible Belt!

Feeling so relaxed, I glanced out over the gorgeous Charleston marsh which spread far and wide out my morning window. I dipped my brush into the last bit of yellow ocher to add the finishing touches on the Virgin Mary painting on which I had been working. I was almost in a kind of hypnotic trance, at least partially meditating, just as I had taught my meditation students to rely on and pull from the energy of color. I was thinking, in retrospect, how wonderfully clear and concise my life-plan had unfolded. I was born to be a teacher, a kind of missionary (as a young girl, I wanted to grow up to be a missionary of the church) of meditation and was recalling Catherine coming to me in the great white light with a simple task that I must do; and in doing so, it just makes me feel so useful and completely a part of the universal whole.

Back when we began our work "together," she literally instructed me every step of the way on how to create a simple meditative technique that would incorporate the seven colors of the rainbow. Then she told me to record it on an audio tape and get it into the hands of as many people as I possibly could. I have, ever since, spent my life fulfilling the single most important responsibility I have in this world: to teach others to meditate and go within for the answers to the most perplexing questions that trouble them daily. Thousands of people use my meditation tape ("How to Meditate," which is nationally distributed) as a simple, daily guide.

The magnificent colors poured forth from my brush, the lights shone against the shadows... when suddenly I heard a man speaking. I knew instantly it was the voice of President John F. Kennedy. He was talking to me as if he knew me well. He was pleading with me to go to his family with a message. There were things happening to his family which he was very upset about and so he asked me to get in touch with them right away. I paid little attention to his pleas, yet never forgot the message... nor the messenger.

Two weeks later his spirit reappeared. He was standing right next to my painting of the Beloved Virgin. He pleaded with me to contact his family. I replied, "I can't go to your family, sir. They will think I'm a kook!"

"No, they will not think badly of you," he reassured me.

"Then tell me how to get in touch with them," I conceded.

"Tomorrow morning the local newspaper will print the name and address of someone associated with the family. Please call him and tell him to get in touch with my family. They will call you back very soon!" he again spoke reassuringly.

"How do you know that, Mr. Kennedy?" I asked.

"I know my family. I'm worried about my mother's health as well as many other things. These are the messages you must deliver." And then he told me exactly what to say to them.

The next morning I anxiously ran outside to retrieve the morning paper. There on the second page was an article and the person's name and whereabouts the spirit had referred to. I made contact immediately. "Sir, my name is Elizabeth Baron. I am a trance medium and was instructed by the spirit of John Kennedy to get in touch with his family through you. He told me your name would be in the newspaper and that I was to call you and get you to contact his family. If you'd like to verify who I am, you may wish to check with the Secret Service; I have, in the past, given them legitimate information and warned them about an attempted assassination on President Reagan's life... among other things."

"Young lady, that won't be necessary. If you will give me your phone number, I will have someone in the family call you back within the hour," answered the pleasant voice on the other end.

Forty-five minutes later, an in-law relative of the late President Kennedy called me back. I relayed the President's message, word for word. He thanked me and told me the family sends prayers and blessings to me. These were very private messages which meant a lot to the family. I assured them I would never divulge the spiritual messages I was to relay and that I was only trying to do what I was told to do.

I considered this to be a great event in the life of a medium. Each and every day, in my work, I receive hundreds of confirmations and revelations concerning life after death; but there is something truly validating about having someone like a former President come to you in spirit. I can say truly there is life after death and if you murder someone, they can come back to tell about it.

My life is enshrined with hosts of lost souls who, whether on a lone crusade or through people of the earth, return to complete something - unfinished business. They do not rest until the murderer is avenged or until they meet the Master (I am told by Spirit) - whichever comes first. The Master is a Being in White who is Pure Love, is ever forgiving and simply loves us all as we are. He teaches us to forgive and turn the other cheek. He teaches that "vengeance is Mine, sayeth the Lord." Naive and innocent as that may sound, I believe He made it just that simple for us to know Him and understand who He is; though some of us go through life never to discover our own spirituality and therefore are not always prepared to meet death. The phone call had been made, I had done what I was told and considered it a real blessing; I felt God had used me for a very special purpose. I was pleased and fulfilled.

Sunday night. Every week, since I set out on my mission as a spiritual teacher, I hold a kind of prayer and meditation meeting. That particular evening as everyone started to gather, sitting in a circle on the floor, I felt a true sense of peace. To me, the circle represents God - with no beginning nor end - the alpha to the omega. People were crowded into my living room. They always come in and find their own place; each week they seem to sit in the same spot, probably since I've taught them to build up an energy force by meditating each day in the same area. They bring pillows to sit on and are relaxed and comfortable just as they might feel in their own homes.

There is something very humble about worshipping God in this way. There is no big building that we have to worry about paying for. There is no minister to pay or to look to for answers. They just come as they are - normal people, successful people, people with problems - addicts, adulterers, whomever they are - can gather together and sit by their neighbors to pray and meditate. The person sitting next to them never asks, "Are you a Catholic or Jew? Are you a Baptist or a Presbyterian?" People from all walks of life, from every religion, gather for one purpose: to talk to God and try to listen for His answers. No one minds what anyone is wearing. No one comments about why they are there or if they are living up to anyone's expectations. And, surprisingly, many of them are members of congregations of the traditional churches around town; even the clergy sometimes attend.

As soon as we sit down, I pray and ask God to put the words in my mouth to say to these people:

"May the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be acceptable to you, O Lord, my Strength and my Redeemer. Amen."

We talk about things like coming events in our lives or perhaps about the clothing we are collecting for the American Indians. Then we all bow our heads, surround ourselves with God's Holy Light and begin the meditation.

I truly believe that meditation could change the whole world. If you have never meditated, understand that prayer is talking to God and meditation is quieting the body, mind and spirit to sit still, breathing in His Love and Light and becoming one with God. It helps you transcend your problems, to rise above the burdens of the earth. It could totally change our prison system, if we would incorporate a meditation class for prisoners. They would tune in to their Higher- or "God-selves" and discover the productive side of who they are. Most of all, it teaches one to see the Good in oneself - to feel truly useful and worthwhile. I have taught my students how to meditate because of the constructive path they take once they have learned this art. It's a beautiful process to watch and behold as it puts them on the path to living their life purpose. There are religious groups who would lead us to believe that people who meditate believe they are God. This is the biggest misconception... the art of meditation can lead you to reach your highest potential. Going through life without meditating is like a musician of enormous talent trying to play his masterpiece on a piano that has not been tuned.

After the group has meditated for about thirty minutes, we go around the circle and each one utters special prayers for the world and for loved ones. Then, after a short break, we return for a trance session. I lie down on the sofa, go into a deep trance and let St. Catherine come through to answer their questions and offer guidance. It matters not how many people come - 50 or 100 - she responds to each individual, through me, with a personal message they alone can interpret. "Catherine, do you have a message for me?" repeated over and over, she gives them messages that help them to stay on their spiritual paths.

We start at 7:00 p.m and finish around 10:00. Everyone leaves after hugs and words of friendship and love... taking with them a bit of reassurance, guidance and wisdom gained from the experience. One special thing that I teach my students is that Catherine is my guardian angel and through meditation and prayer, they must find for themselves their own spirit guide.

It had been an amazing day with the visit from Kennedy and then the trance. At 10:30, I fell asleep as soon as I laid my head down. "Thanks up there for Your revelations," were my last thoughts.

Over the next few days, I was still in awe over the visit from the spirit of John Kennedy. I had never been particularly fond of him and was certainly not one of his admirers; but I vividly remember the day he was killed. I was in the hospital and saw the whole thing on the television in my room. Of course, I was very sorry for the family; but I was too young and too much into my own life to know anything about what kind of President he was. One of the greatest accomplishments he will be remembered for is the Peace Corps. I always felt that was such a loving and compassionate cause to promote and I would have joined up myself had I not chosen the path of motherhood.

The following Wednesday night I was teaching my meditation class. We were all sitting in a circle and were supposed to be "dialoguing" with God. (I teach my students a technique similar to automatic writing that helps them to get in touch with their Creator.) All of a sudden, right in front of all my students, the voice of Abraham Lincoln started talking to me. I could not continue writing. I was just sitting there feeling kind of silly because I was sure they all thought I had flipped. As crazy as I must have looked, they could see that I appeared to be talking to an invisible entity. Nevertheless, I listened carefully to the voice.

"Well, little lady, I see you've bitten off more than you can chew! So we came down to help you. I'm Abe," he said with a bit of an accent I recognized as having a Southern Illinois twang, since I'd lived there for so many years.

I communicated through mental telepathy, "Abraham Lincoln?" I asked in a state of bewilderment.

"You are right. I have some others with me who are going to help you," the spirit responded.

"Who is with you?" I asked.

"Well... Andy Jackson, St. Francis of Assisi and old Martin. I know you don't like old Martin, but he's here for you to call on if you need him."

"Oh, I don't dislike Martin (Luther King). I just did not like the idea that he cheated on his wife. Mr. Lincoln, are you still in the White House? I mean, your ghost, that is? Does your ghost still haunt the White House and did John Wilkes Booth kill you?" (I decided to take the opportunity to find out as much as I could, perhaps revealing some great hidden truths - distorted records of history that may have been covered up.)

"Well, yes, I'm still in the White House. I still have to keep those old codgers in line there. And the answer to your next question about John Wilkes Booth - I really hold those old southern plantation owners responsible for that! John Booth may have pulled the trigger, but it was just as if they had done it themselves. They simply did not want the changes I was sent to impose upon them!"

I wanted so badly to continue our "conversation," but all of a sudden, he was gone. His last words were, "Just remember, we're here for you."

At the time of this occurrence, I never imagined that I would ever become so interested in politics and governmental issues; however, that has changed for many of us with the present administration. We have been forced to take back the responsibility of telling our public servants how to run our country, rather than allowing them to continue running our lives. At the same time, we have all had to look deeper at our own morals and values.

I know this must sound silly to you who don't believe in communicating with the dead. But there is a thin line between life and death and that line can vanish at times when need be. I relayed this message to my group and they were amazed! All of them wanted to experience what I had gone through, communicating with Lincoln, and some are learning to do so.

The next day, a police officer from one of the local departments came by to show me some pictures of a murdered man. "Can you tell me who murdered this man?" he asked.

"Oh no, I don't want to do this," I thought. I am a very up person and like most of us, I'd rather avoid the darkness life casts my way. I revel in the afterglow of all the wonderful things in which I am involved - teaching people how to meditate and grow spiritually. I don't always want to be tuning in to "murder and mayhem," as they say. It's important to think pleasant thoughts and stay positive mentally no matter what line of work you're in; yet it's so hard to keep your emotions out of it when you're working on brutal murder cases.

I gave the cop the information he needed and some leads based on my impressions of the photographs he had provided. He seemed pleased with the information I gave him, though psychics really never know just how much they've helped because we don't usually get any credit, publicly or privately, for solving or helping to solve such cases. He thanked me and left.

It was April and time once again to get back to the beach - Charlestonians' favorite pastime. We get our exercise, do some soul-searching and, at the same time, enjoy the breathtaking scenery. Unfortunately, I can't always take the time to enjoy the beach, but that day I would treat myself. My favorite is Folly Beach. There is one long stretch which is about seven miles from my home where I can walk all the way down to the end of the beach and sit and look over to the old lighthouse that towers over Morris Island, near the famous Charleston Harbor with its Battery and Civil War relics. I sit way out on the rocks of the secluded beach and meditate.

After about an hour of being lost in meditation, coming back to reality, I started to realize how painful the rocks were to sit on. Even so, I love going to Folly Beach to listen to the pounding surf; it's the very pulse of the earth. I love to watch the little sandpipers scurrying around on the sand looking for little, innocent crabs who try to escape into their burrowed holes. It was getting late and I knew it was time to pick up my daughter, Tami, from high school. I look at her and think what a difficult world we've created for these young people... and I am sorry and want to do my share to help resolve some of the problems that have unfortunately become our legacy to generation "X," as they have become known.

If I had only known on that glowingly pastel, soft-scented Charleston day when in the air still lingered the smell of the ever-present danger of a cleansing hurricane, that the soon-to-be storm's calm had barely shown its deceptive head.

* * *

Crown Heights

The much publicized racial tension in Crown Heights, Brooklyn, New York brought my mother to the city several times to work with the rabbis in order to make peace between the blacks and the Hasidic Jews. Howie Comen, as the Executive Director of Charleston's Congress of Religion, a group whose "members are trying to find common bonds strong enough to defuse the ancient tensions that have caused prejudice and bloodshed throughout history," joined in. A member of a Charleston synagogue, he had expanded the experiment in unity of religions by calling together as many clerics as possible and asking them to converge in order to talk about their faiths and achieve a common bond among all religions into one religion. He had even travelled to Crown Heights and met with Rabbi Schneerson, the leader of Doron's Lubavitch International Hasidic movement and ended up writing for a Lubavitch publication, Concord, from London, England - a publication which goes out to all the hasidic Rabbis and their people all over the world. In his article, he wrote about my mother's spirit guide, St. Catherine, and some of the work they'd done together.

The Rebbe of the Lubavitch Hasidic group had been riding in a vehicle which ran over and killed a young black child. This caused riots in that area between the Jews and the blacks. Around the same time, a Jewish student was killed as well. The Rabbi from Jerusalem was a Lubavitch Rabbi. Howie contacted my mother (since she had, with the help of St. Catherine, taught him so much about the unity of religions) and the rabbi, hoping a round table discussion would help. They both took a trip to Crown Heights to organize a march where the Hasidim would carry a wreath for the black child who had been killed and the blacks would carry a wreath for the Jewish youth who had been killed. The march never occurred, but they did accomplish something equally as important. They went to meet with one of the high officials of the Jewish community; and then they visited the priest at the local Catholic church. He allowed them to speak on Sunday morning to his congregation. The priest then went to meet with the Jewish official and before they left, they had the priest and the rabbi shaking hands, exchanging ideas and agreeing to pray for each other.

About a year later, the Jewish official called Howie and asked him to get in touch with my mother. He paid their way to New York so she could perform an exorcism on a Jewish couple whom he felt were possessed. She went to their house and discovered that their dead mother and father needed exorcising from their house. She did not, however, feel they were possessed. She did what she could to make him understand that they needed psychiatric counselling; but they stubbornly refused.

The AGFA Building

In 1991, my mother was called by a project manager who was in charge of constructing a $46 million dollar building for AGFA, which is a division of Miles Laboratories, a German-based company. He wanted to hire her to do an exorcism on the building since they had experienced strange and unusual occurrences which seemed to be hindering their progress. She laid down and asked St. Catherine to come through. The messages came forth revealing that there were 49 spirits of Jewish people lingering about who were trying to prevent the construction of the building.

The project manager called her a few weeks after the exorcism and cleansing of the building and told her that things seemed to have improved in certain areas of the building, but that he wanted her to exorcise other parts of the building. One man had been killed there for no apparent reason. The concrete walls were still wet after eight months of drying time! Huge fans were used to speed up the process, yet they were still dripping wet! Tiles in the shower rooms would pop up off the floors even though they had been firmly grouted in place. The blood red metal doors continued to show eerie stab marks each day which ended up costing them $360,000 in repairs. After my mother's second visit, she was able to thoroughly exorcise each and every room, hallway, and bathroom until they were able to finally complete construction. Today it is a thriving company which provides many jobs in the otherwise stifled Charleston economy.

Cochise

One of my mother's greatest paintings is of Cochise, the great Apache Indian chief who lived in the 19th century. She was inspired to paint him after she visited a special place she frequents in Blackville, South Carolina - the Healing Springs. It is a place where people from all over go to get healing water. The Indians used to take the wounded British soldiers there during the Revolutionary War to heal them. She told me the story of her vision of Cochise:

One day I was meditating quietly near the springs when I looked up toward the treetops. There I had a vision of a man whose spirit spoke gently to me, saying, "Help my people." Not recognizing him at first glance, I asked him who his people were and he replied, "The Mescaleros." On the way home, I stopped at the library and looked up a book about the Mescalero tribe. There was a picture of the spirit I'd seen in my vision - Cochise. I made a photocopy of the black and white picture - the only portrait ever created of this great man. A friend and I painted it together in full colour. I sketched it on a canvas and put a few coats of paint on it and he finished it.

I proceeded to start an organization for the advancement of native American indians but could never seem to generate any interest in people to contribute to this cause. Nonetheless, I started clothing drives for the organization. One evening my meditation group was meeting at my house when a lovely young woman whom I had never seen came up to me and told me that my painting of Cochise was crying! I laughed it off and told her I really doubted that could happen. She said she was surprised that I wasn't more open-minded and assured me she was telling the truth. "Come and see for yourself," she said. Indeed, tears were running down from his eyes in the painting but stopped right at the edge of the frame. Each time the meditation group met at my house, the painting would appear to cry, but not at any other time.

One day we were having a yard sale so we could raise enough money to ship a truckload of clothing to a reservation in North Carolina. My friend, Jim, was helping me; it was very hot and he went into the house to wipe his brow. To his amazement, Cochise's brow in the painting was perspiring, too! It was as if he were empathizing with us.

The phenomenon ceased after a young woman came to me for a reading and told me her fiance had represented another tribe and was able to get them fifty million dollars for their land. I asked her if he would represent the Tuscaroras, a tribe I was trying to help at that time, and she agreed. I introduced her fiance to the Chief of the tribe and the painting of Cochise never cried again.

Other Ghost Stories

Elizabeth's experiences with ghosts and hauntings are too numerous to tell here; however, we will include a few more encounters she has had with spirits from the afterlife that stand out in her mind:

I recall a case I worked on in North Carolina with the Sheriff and some of his deputies. A woman who had cheated on her husband had been murdered by a military man. I felt the woman was murdered by a man who was hired by her husband. Her spirit came through when I lay on her bed while the Sheriff, deputies, my minister, and others witnessed. She said she had gotten what she deserved and wanted the Sheriff to discontinue his search for the culprit. She wanted no revenge.

After Hurricane Hugo, my friend, Howie Comen, and I were invited to a psychologist's home to get rid of a ghost who was frequently appearing at the foot of her bed and also on her stairway. We went to her house and I immediately prayed and asked her to bring her grandmother's picture in and let me hold it. "This is the person who is haunting you," I told her.

"How do you know that?" she asked.

"I'm a medium. It's my job to know that," I told her, quite confident in my mission. She didn't know what to say to that!

I laid down and asked St. Catherine to come through and tell us what was happening. She told us to get the psychologist to go to another room and get her grandmother's rocking chair and put it in the empty room upstairs. We all went up there and I sat in the rocking chair and immediately her spirit began to come through me. She told us she had had a black man lynched because she told the community he had raped her, when actually it had been her father who had molested her over and over when she was young. She also admitted running over a black woman for no apparent reason. She told her granddaughter that she had had sex with her uncle and that her uncle was really the father of this woman's father. The psychologist was shocked and devastated, although skeptical.

We tried to forge a forgiving bond between them. I told her that she would need to see a therapist and that it would take some time to heal the relationship between her grandmother and herself. She promised to get therapy.

As I was walking down the stairs, I noticed the spirit of a young man staring at me. I told the psychologist what I'd seen, describing him to her, and that I thought he had died at about nine years of age. He mentioned that he wanted her to buy a swing set for the backyard. He asked that she let him go into the Light. He said he did not want to be there any longer and she must release him so he could go on. She confirmed that her brother had died when he was nine and she'd begged him not to go. She seemed to be aware that he was still around; but soon after, allowed him to go into the Light.

I read for a woman once and her husband came through during the reading to tell her he was okay even though he had recently died in an automobile accident. He said he was soon to reincarnate into their grandchild. The woman did not believe it. Shortly thereafter, her daughter became pregnant. The day before the baby was born (2-1/2 months premature), she called to tell me she thought that her husband's spirit was trying to reach her. She came over immediately and he told her he would reincarnate the next day at 2:30 in the afternoon and then he would not be around her any longer (in the way she knew him). The next day, her daughter gave birth to a premature baby at exactly 2:30 p.m.

Just after Hurricane Hugo, a Baptist woman asked me to exorcise her house of her dead husband and her in-laws. She had asked her minister, but he had refused. I went to her house and sat down in her husband's chair. He immediately appeared before her two sons and apologized for not being an understanding father. He confessed to his wife that he had always been in love with his (dead) former wife and that he was going to her as she was waiting for him to come over to the other side. He had been tied up in the house with all the grief. He apologized to her for not loving her as she deserved to be loved. His deceased wife who was waiting to take him over to the other side finally succeeded.

I went into the bedroom and there was the spirit of her mother-in-law who also wanted to be set free. She was able to go into the Light once she apologized to her daughter-in-law for not being a good mother to her. But there were still two ghosts left to contend with - the father-in-law and the brother-in-law. The father-in-law, we were told, had transmigrated into the thirty-year-old son of the woman of the house when he was six months old. He was a twin soul to this young man. The brother-in-law, who was about 56 when he died, was retarded and his spirit refused to come out of his bedroom without his father's permission. I was finally able to convince the thirty-year-old, who was possessed by his grandfather, to give the boy permission to go into the Light and they both went together.

There once was a woman who had been murdered. Her attorney, who was the executor of her estate, asked me to go and lie down on her bloody mattress to see if I could pick up on the circumstances surrounding the murder. I have never seen so much blood! It was in big piles all over the place! There were even bloody hand marks on the walls where she tried to get away.

She came through and explained how she had been going with this married man who refused to get a divorce despite her pleas for him to do so. So he murdered her. Her spirit was able to come through and describe the whole scene. Later that month, she was able to say goodbye to her relatives during another private session.

A lady called to tell me her brother had hanged himself. Evidently, the police had been harassing him about going out with one of their daughters. They had beaten him so badly, he ended up in the hospital. When he tried to get a job, a policeman's wife had called around to his prospective employers convincing them not to hire him. His family was poor and did not know how to defend themselves against crooked police. He felt he had nowhere to go, so he hanged himself from a big tree in the backyard. Before his suicide, he called the police to tell them what he planned to do.

Within days after his burial in North Carolina, his spirit appeared to be laying on the sofa in his home in Charleston. He would tell his brother-in-law mean things like he was going to come alive through his baby son. His brother-in-law was a Vietnam veteran suffering from "post traumatic stress disorder" and it blew his mind! He would go into the bedroom and play the cassette, Eric Clapton's Tears From Heaven, over and over. They would remove the cassette and he would do it again.

Inside Edition featured this story and actually filmed as I lay down on his bed, allowed his spirit to come through, and let one of his relatives take him over to the "other side." His brother told me later that evening, "In thirty days, you will be here trying to help me go into the Light."

"You wouldn't do that to your mother! Look how she's suffering!" I retorted.

"Yes, I would," he assured.

Thirty days later, he was found hanging from a rope in his apartment. He did not return. I believe his brother helped him over.

The parents of a young man who had been killed on a motorcycle came to me and told me they had lost their son. I remember going to their home and bringing him through. He had a girl with him on the motorcycle who was not his girlfriend. They both seemed to be very happy together on the other side. The girlfriend he had left behind was not so happy about that. But he sure didn't seem to be disturbed.

Back in 1987 I was working on a case where a mother, her little daughter and her girlfriend disappeared while coming home from choir practice and were never seen again. Their car was found not too far from their house. Unfortunately, a police officer and the husband of one of the women had cleaned the car inside and out, destroying any evidence of fingerprints. These two men were never prosecuted for tampering with evidence; and, as long as there were no bodies discovered, they acted like no murders had been committed.

I laid down to trance and one of the girl's spirits came through. She told of a tall, black man who had killed them and then went to Syracuse, New York. The cassette tape of the trance session was given to the Sheriff who was very skeptical, so I was never able to transcribe it. That was the last I ever saw of the tape. I worked on this case for quite some time with no cooperation from the Sheriff. No matter what I did, there was never any follow-up and no one seemed to listen. Eventually, another Sheriff came into office. He trusted and believed in me and actually began looking into the case. He called me one day and said that one of the women's credit cards had been used in either New York or New Jersey and that someone had given a description of the man I had described to the former Sheriff. The criminal had been at large at the time of the missing women's disappearance and it was known that he was from New York and had returned there shortly after the women were reported missing.